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patchy_at_best's Reviews (1.47k)
Hex is terrifying for reasons you wouldn’t expect. Chronicling a small town’s descent into a hell of their own making, it brings humanity’s deeply buried darkness to the surface.
Present day Black Spring is under the curse of a 17th century witch with eyes and mouth sewn shut. To ward off Kathryn’s wrath, the town hides the haunting from outsiders, masquerading fear as folksy tradition. While most of the townspeople play their part for the greater good, a gang of teen fundamentalists takes a joke too far and incites Kathryn’s revenge. Soon Black Spring’s fragile façade of law and order is shattered forever.
Trigger warning: Hex contains graphic descriptions of suicide, sexual violence, child violence, and animal violence. However, I personally found these scenes less emotionally impacting than the insidious atmosphere of depression and fear. When reading, please be mindful of your emotional wellbeing.
Hex is told from multiple viewpoints, alternating between characters who play crucial roles in Black Spring’s downfall. The main character, Steve Grant, is a doctor who unwittingly condemned his family to the witch’s curse when they moved to Black Spring decades ago. His teenaged son, Tyler, was born here. Convinced that honesty is the best policy, Tyler and his school mates capture the witch’s behaviour on camera. Robert Grim is an officer of HEX, the orchestrators of Black Spring’s Big Brother-esque surveillance and incident management system. Grim sits in council alongside Griselda Holst, local widow and butcher, whose fear of the witch’s retribution has turned her into a fanatic.
These diverse viewpoints work brilliantly to show different angles of the story. Although I don’t always enjoy split narratives, I loved how the changing perspectives reveal different insights and blindspots, giving me that urgent, creepy feeling of learning something another character doesn’t know. The structure gives the plot urgency.
Tyler is easily my favourite character. While Steve and Grim are fantastic anti-heroes, Tyler is as close as we get to an actual “good guy”. As the youngest main character, Tyler’s use of present day technology adds a super cool element to the story. He uses his online platforms as a YouTuber and blogger to vent his true thoughts. Unbeknownst to Steve, Tyler is secretly hoarding video evidence of the witch. With Black Spring’s laws against leaking the truth, the consequences could be fatal.
I’ll admit that at first, I didn’t love the writing style. In the first few chapters, I was distracted by lots of over-explaining. However, as the story heated up, I fell under its spell. I powered through it, intoxicated by its dizzying pace and ominous atmosphere.
Put your expectations aside: Hex isn’t terrifying because the witch Kathryn is a unique and insidious evil… Hex is terrifying because it reveals the cruelty within people. The morality of Black Spring is on a very slippery slope. Delivering its people to a new Dark Age, Black Spring’s dogmatic legal system is centuries out of date. I struggled with a feeling of powerlessness and anger as the plot unfolded. Along the way, the townspeople lose their humanity, drip-fed by fear their entire lives. This is the truly terrifying part.
Telling a dark and shocking story, Hex exposes the effects of fear on people – what it takes to crack them and make them forget their morality. Plundering all kinds of ethical grey areas, the main characters face unforgettable consequences. This is one heck of an edge-of-your-seat read.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Present day Black Spring is under the curse of a 17th century witch with eyes and mouth sewn shut. To ward off Kathryn’s wrath, the town hides the haunting from outsiders, masquerading fear as folksy tradition. While most of the townspeople play their part for the greater good, a gang of teen fundamentalists takes a joke too far and incites Kathryn’s revenge. Soon Black Spring’s fragile façade of law and order is shattered forever.
Trigger warning: Hex contains graphic descriptions of suicide, sexual violence, child violence, and animal violence. However, I personally found these scenes less emotionally impacting than the insidious atmosphere of depression and fear. When reading, please be mindful of your emotional wellbeing.
Hex is told from multiple viewpoints, alternating between characters who play crucial roles in Black Spring’s downfall. The main character, Steve Grant, is a doctor who unwittingly condemned his family to the witch’s curse when they moved to Black Spring decades ago. His teenaged son, Tyler, was born here. Convinced that honesty is the best policy, Tyler and his school mates capture the witch’s behaviour on camera. Robert Grim is an officer of HEX, the orchestrators of Black Spring’s Big Brother-esque surveillance and incident management system. Grim sits in council alongside Griselda Holst, local widow and butcher, whose fear of the witch’s retribution has turned her into a fanatic.
For many newcomers in Black Spring, the irreversibility of their fate, its finally, was their first uncanny confrontation with their own morality. People desperately resisted the idea of their own death by looking away for as long as they could and avoiding the subject. But in Black Spring, they lived with death. They took her into their homes and hid her from the outside world – page 59
These diverse viewpoints work brilliantly to show different angles of the story. Although I don’t always enjoy split narratives, I loved how the changing perspectives reveal different insights and blindspots, giving me that urgent, creepy feeling of learning something another character doesn’t know. The structure gives the plot urgency.
It’s those smiling faces that get to him … They’re faces that have forgotten how to smile. They’re faces with too much skin on them, too many wrinkles for their years … They’re the faces of Black Spring. And when they try to smile, it looks like they’re screaming – page 53
Tyler is easily my favourite character. While Steve and Grim are fantastic anti-heroes, Tyler is as close as we get to an actual “good guy”. As the youngest main character, Tyler’s use of present day technology adds a super cool element to the story. He uses his online platforms as a YouTuber and blogger to vent his true thoughts. Unbeknownst to Steve, Tyler is secretly hoarding video evidence of the witch. With Black Spring’s laws against leaking the truth, the consequences could be fatal.
I’ll admit that at first, I didn’t love the writing style. In the first few chapters, I was distracted by lots of over-explaining. However, as the story heated up, I fell under its spell. I powered through it, intoxicated by its dizzying pace and ominous atmosphere.
When people start believing in omens, there’s a general breakdown in the way they think and live. What terrible thing awaits us? That’s the breeding ground where the fear of Katherine van Wyler took root – page 66
Put your expectations aside: Hex isn’t terrifying because the witch Kathryn is a unique and insidious evil… Hex is terrifying because it reveals the cruelty within people. The morality of Black Spring is on a very slippery slope. Delivering its people to a new Dark Age, Black Spring’s dogmatic legal system is centuries out of date. I struggled with a feeling of powerlessness and anger as the plot unfolded. Along the way, the townspeople lose their humanity, drip-fed by fear their entire lives. This is the truly terrifying part.
This is all it takes for people to plunge into insanity: one night alone with themselves and what they fear the most – page 352
Telling a dark and shocking story, Hex exposes the effects of fear on people – what it takes to crack them and make them forget their morality. Plundering all kinds of ethical grey areas, the main characters face unforgettable consequences. This is one heck of an edge-of-your-seat read.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian is the heartwarming and unforgettable story of Arnold Spirit a.k.a. Junior. Everyone on the Spokane Indian reservation assumes he’ll never make it to college, and will continue his family’s pattern of poverty. But Junior is determined not to live the life laid out for him.
People on the rez call 14-year-old Junior a loser for many reasons: besides wearing glasses and being born with “water on the brain”, he refuses to follow in his parents’ footsteps. So Junior does the unthinkable and moves to a middle-class, all-white public school beyond the rez. When he’s accused of betraying the tribe, Junior must prove himself to his new and old friends.
As an Own Voices narrative, Junior’s story is founded on Sherman Alexie’s personal experiences of life on an Indian reservation. I fell in love with Junior instantly. With his relatable self-deprecating sense of humour, he immersed me in his way of seeing the world. Sometimes laugh out loud funny, sometimes unexpectedly profound and poetic, his self-awareness is captivating. I can’t imagine this book existing without such a strong and endearing hero at its heart.
Junior’s coming-of-age story will resonate with many people. I especially love his internal quest to forge an identity that incorporates all the different facets of his life – on our own lifelong journey, we are part of many different identities and communities, some transitional, some deeply embedded in who we are. As a young person navigating new and changing identities, Junior’s story will touch many YA readers. However, he is such a well-developed and empathetic character that adult readers will find him equally loveable.
Even though Junior is a comedian, his sense of humour never downplays or sugarcoats the sad events in his life. He talks about grief and loss, lack of privilege, and alcoholism with raw emotion. His relationships with other characters are also realistic and develop naturally over the course of the plot.
While illuminating aspects of his culture, Junior’s story will resonate with people from countless walks of life – grief, friendship, and bullying are universal experiences. This is a story for when you feel like a loser, or when life is weighing you down. It may even help you find your tribe where you least expect…
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
People on the rez call 14-year-old Junior a loser for many reasons: besides wearing glasses and being born with “water on the brain”, he refuses to follow in his parents’ footsteps. So Junior does the unthinkable and moves to a middle-class, all-white public school beyond the rez. When he’s accused of betraying the tribe, Junior must prove himself to his new and old friends.
I remember when people used to think I was smart. I remember when people used to think my brain was useful. Damaged by water, sure. And ready to seizure at any moment. But still useful, and maybe even a little bit beautiful and sacred and magical – page 86
As an Own Voices narrative, Junior’s story is founded on Sherman Alexie’s personal experiences of life on an Indian reservation. I fell in love with Junior instantly. With his relatable self-deprecating sense of humour, he immersed me in his way of seeing the world. Sometimes laugh out loud funny, sometimes unexpectedly profound and poetic, his self-awareness is captivating. I can’t imagine this book existing without such a strong and endearing hero at its heart.
It sucks to be poor, and it sucks to feel that you somehow deserve to be poor. You start believing that you’re poor because you’re stupid and ugly. And then you start believing that you’re stupid and ugly because you’re Indian. And because you’re Indian you start believing you’re destined to be poor … Poverty doesn’t give you strength or teach you lessons about perseverance. No, poverty only teaches you how to be poor – page 13
Junior’s coming-of-age story will resonate with many people. I especially love his internal quest to forge an identity that incorporates all the different facets of his life – on our own lifelong journey, we are part of many different identities and communities, some transitional, some deeply embedded in who we are. As a young person navigating new and changing identities, Junior’s story will touch many YA readers. However, he is such a well-developed and empathetic character that adult readers will find him equally loveable.
I realised that, sure, I was a Spokane Indian. I belonged to that tribe. But I also belonged to the tribe of American immigrants. And to the tribe of basketball players. And to the tribe of bookworms – page 217
Even though Junior is a comedian, his sense of humour never downplays or sugarcoats the sad events in his life. He talks about grief and loss, lack of privilege, and alcoholism with raw emotion. His relationships with other characters are also realistic and develop naturally over the course of the plot.
If you’re good at it, and you love it, and it helps you navigate the river of the world, then it can’t be wrong – page 95
While illuminating aspects of his culture, Junior’s story will resonate with people from countless walks of life – grief, friendship, and bullying are universal experiences. This is a story for when you feel like a loser, or when life is weighing you down. It may even help you find your tribe where you least expect…
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
On the surface, Girl, Interrupted is a witty memoir about being human. Deeper down, this book confronts the stigmatisation of mental illness.
The year is 1967. 18-year-old [a:Susanna Kaysen|4376|Susanna Kaysen|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1392847006p2/4376.jpg] is struggling with her slipping grasp on reality and suicidal impulses. Misinformed and arguably misdiagnosed, she is incarcerated at McLean, a psychiatric hospital famous for its celebrity patients including [a:Sylvia Plath|4379|Sylvia Plath|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1373572652p2/4379.jpg] and Ray Charles. There she meets a diverse cast of female characters, all of whom have hit rock bottom. Susanna’s journey to recovery revolves around rejecting society’s attitude towards mental illness to validate her experience.
I think the title of this book perfectly sums up how mental illness can affect a person’s life. Susanna was forced to take her self-view back to the drawing board for a complete overhaul. While the world outside keeps turning, this interruption removed her from ordinary reality – McLean becomes her parallel universe, stripped of commonplace interactions and functions.
Constant new neuroscience discoveries force us to reconsider the way we view mental illness. Words like “mad” and “insane” grossly generalise people with complex mental illnesses and dehumanise the person in question. Before, during, and after Susanna’s stay at McLean Hospital, she experiences stereotyping, discrimination, and stigmatisation. Regardless of the socio-historical context from which she’s writing, she presents a very clear picture that hasn’t changed much in half a century.
The characters Susanna meets at McLean become her dearest friends for the next year and a half. Some are tragic, some are hilarious, but all are empathetic and very human. Their camaraderie reminds me of [b:Orange Is the New Black|6314763|Orange Is the New Black|Piper Kerman|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1320520714s/6314763.jpg|6499995]. At the end of the day, however, I was sad thinking about how the world treated them, for nothing more than being mentally unhealthy and caught between a rock and a hard place.
Since the publication of Girl, Interrupted, I’m sure plenty of newer books have delivered much more accurate representations of mental illness. However, despite its age, I found Susanna empathetic and perceptive, spot on with her critique, and totally human despite what society thinks.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
The year is 1967. 18-year-old [a:Susanna Kaysen|4376|Susanna Kaysen|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1392847006p2/4376.jpg] is struggling with her slipping grasp on reality and suicidal impulses. Misinformed and arguably misdiagnosed, she is incarcerated at McLean, a psychiatric hospital famous for its celebrity patients including [a:Sylvia Plath|4379|Sylvia Plath|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1373572652p2/4379.jpg] and Ray Charles. There she meets a diverse cast of female characters, all of whom have hit rock bottom. Susanna’s journey to recovery revolves around rejecting society’s attitude towards mental illness to validate her experience.
I think the title of this book perfectly sums up how mental illness can affect a person’s life. Susanna was forced to take her self-view back to the drawing board for a complete overhaul. While the world outside keeps turning, this interruption removed her from ordinary reality – McLean becomes her parallel universe, stripped of commonplace interactions and functions.
In a strange way we were free. We’d reached the end of the line. We had nothing more to lose. Our privacy, our liberty, our dignity: All of this was gone and we were stripped down to the bare bones of our selves. Naked, we need protection, and the hospital protected us. Of course, the hospital had stripped us naked in the first place – but that just underscored its obligation to shelter us – page 94
Constant new neuroscience discoveries force us to reconsider the way we view mental illness. Words like “mad” and “insane” grossly generalise people with complex mental illnesses and dehumanise the person in question. Before, during, and after Susanna’s stay at McLean Hospital, she experiences stereotyping, discrimination, and stigmatisation. Regardless of the socio-historical context from which she’s writing, she presents a very clear picture that hasn’t changed much in half a century.
“You spent nearly two years in a loony bin! Why in the world were you in there? I can’t believe it!” Translation: If you’re crazy, then I’m crazy, and I’m not, so the whole thing must have been a mistake.
“You spent nearly two years in a loony bin? What was wrong with you?” Translation: I need to know the particulars of craziness so I can assure myself that I’m not crazy.
“You spent nearly two years in a loony bin? Hmmm. When was that, exactly?” Translation: Are you still contagious? – page 125
The characters Susanna meets at McLean become her dearest friends for the next year and a half. Some are tragic, some are hilarious, but all are empathetic and very human. Their camaraderie reminds me of [b:Orange Is the New Black|6314763|Orange Is the New Black|Piper Kerman|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1320520714s/6314763.jpg|6499995]. At the end of the day, however, I was sad thinking about how the world treated them, for nothing more than being mentally unhealthy and caught between a rock and a hard place.
Since the publication of Girl, Interrupted, I’m sure plenty of newer books have delivered much more accurate representations of mental illness. However, despite its age, I found Susanna empathetic and perceptive, spot on with her critique, and totally human despite what society thinks.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Nobel Prize winner, [a:Herta Müller|134980|Herta Müller|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1434721410p2/134980.jpg], writes about life in Romania during Nicolae Ceausescu's totalitarian regime. I expected a story of isolation and suffering; instead, The Appointment weaves poetry from pain and beauty from the mundane.
An unnamed seamstress is indicted by Ceausescu's secret police on a false charge of prostitution. The tram ride to her interrogation gives her time to reflect on her life, especially her relationships with friends and family. The stream of consciousness structure revisits key moments from her past in no particular order, the way your mind wanders on a long journey.
The Appointment's unnamed narrator has a sense of humour that made me respect her resilience instead of pity her. Behind a what-doesn't-kill-you-makes-you-stronger façade, she is extremely self-aware. Her descriptions of people and places are often lyrical and always articulate, seeing past the surface to question the hidden purpose. I thought she seemed untouchable - as if even the most terrible consequence couldn't crush her soul. This effect could easily be interpreted as a coping mechanism developed from her past trauma. She is a brilliant choice of eyes through which to study life under dictatorship.
The above quote stood out to me as a brilliant metaphor for the main themes of The Appointment. The narrator's memories repeatedly depict families protecting and hurting one another; love and pain go hand-in-hand in her experience. This inevitably results in toxic gender politics: for example, many male characters feel justified cheating on or beating their wives. In a poverty-stricken place where people must be mistrustful and selfish in order to survive, the narrator notices how people are bound to their family for better or for worse. In The Appointment, painful relationships are often the only thing people have left to count on.
This book easily deserves five stars for literary merit. As a Nobel Prize winner, Müller exacts careful control of her pacing, plot development, and choice of poetic language. The narrative is stripped bare of inverted commas, question marks, and chapter breaks. I liked how this minimalistic format meant there were no distractions from the story.
I chose to give The Appointment four stars because I found the slow pace regularly lost my attention. I wonder if I could have avoided this issue by reading it quicker instead of over a couple of weeks. That said, the narrator's voice is beautifully developed and engaging. You could even argue that the slow pace is a metaphor for the maddening process of the narrator's indictment; the secret police appear to be trying to drive her to breaking point.
The Appointment is a brilliant, readable representation of life under dictatorship. Müller takes care to show the many facets of her experience living under Ceausescu's regime, surprising readers with humour and beauty alongside tragedy. Her unnamed narrator has a memorable voice that will live on inside my head and haunt me with eloquent quotes.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
An unnamed seamstress is indicted by Ceausescu's secret police on a false charge of prostitution. The tram ride to her interrogation gives her time to reflect on her life, especially her relationships with friends and family. The stream of consciousness structure revisits key moments from her past in no particular order, the way your mind wanders on a long journey.
The worst thing is this feeling that my brain is slipping down into my face. It's humiliating, there's no other word for it, when your whole body feels like it's barefoot. But what if there aren't any words at all, what if even the best word isn't enough - page 4
The Appointment's unnamed narrator has a sense of humour that made me respect her resilience instead of pity her. Behind a what-doesn't-kill-you-makes-you-stronger façade, she is extremely self-aware. Her descriptions of people and places are often lyrical and always articulate, seeing past the surface to question the hidden purpose. I thought she seemed untouchable - as if even the most terrible consequence couldn't crush her soul. This effect could easily be interpreted as a coping mechanism developed from her past trauma. She is a brilliant choice of eyes through which to study life under dictatorship.
There aren't enough trees around to make a single coffin - you'll have to be mine and I'll be yours - page 175
The above quote stood out to me as a brilliant metaphor for the main themes of The Appointment. The narrator's memories repeatedly depict families protecting and hurting one another; love and pain go hand-in-hand in her experience. This inevitably results in toxic gender politics: for example, many male characters feel justified cheating on or beating their wives. In a poverty-stricken place where people must be mistrustful and selfish in order to survive, the narrator notices how people are bound to their family for better or for worse. In The Appointment, painful relationships are often the only thing people have left to count on.
This book easily deserves five stars for literary merit. As a Nobel Prize winner, Müller exacts careful control of her pacing, plot development, and choice of poetic language. The narrative is stripped bare of inverted commas, question marks, and chapter breaks. I liked how this minimalistic format meant there were no distractions from the story.
I chose to give The Appointment four stars because I found the slow pace regularly lost my attention. I wonder if I could have avoided this issue by reading it quicker instead of over a couple of weeks. That said, the narrator's voice is beautifully developed and engaging. You could even argue that the slow pace is a metaphor for the maddening process of the narrator's indictment; the secret police appear to be trying to drive her to breaking point.
The Appointment is a brilliant, readable representation of life under dictatorship. Müller takes care to show the many facets of her experience living under Ceausescu's regime, surprising readers with humour and beauty alongside tragedy. Her unnamed narrator has a memorable voice that will live on inside my head and haunt me with eloquent quotes.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Using her wealth of experience as an international model, bestselling crime novelist, human right’s activist, and mother, Tara Moss equips readers to confront gender inequality in every aspect of society. If [b:The Fictional Woman|22168349|The Fictional Woman|Tara Moss|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1400409005s/22168349.jpg|41509400] is the ultimate “beginner’s guide” to gender inequality, then Speaking Out is your “travelling companion”. Through immersive research and intimate wisdom, this dynamic duo will educate and empower.
I listened to The Fictional Woman and Speaking Out as audio books, and now have a HUGE crush on Tara Moss’s voice. As a strong and confident speaker, her warmth and wisdom bursts through her rich tone. Hearing the author read her own work is intimate, and sometimes unearthed my own pain. Although I plan to buy all my female friends and family members these books for Christmas, I know I’ll be returning to the audio versions.
If you are female and you believe your words should be worth the same as your male colleague’s, Speaking Out is your one-stop shop. As a feminist active across many types of media, Tara Moss is experienced with the discrimination, hate, and threats many women face when they open their mouths.
Like a feminist sensei, Moss prepares women and girls to speak up for their rights. The book is structured intuitively, with guides to speaking out in various social contexts and a section dedicated to looking after your own wellbeing when you experience backlash for raising your voice. These contexts include public speaking, radio, blogging, and popular social medias.
Listening to verbatim quotes of male politicians and journalists belittling their (often more qualified) female colleagues, opened my eyes to how downplayed and normalised everyday sexism is – even in visible spaces like parliament and TV. Speaking Out encourages readers to challenge the normalisation of sexism. I love how Moss reminds readers they are worthy of what they want to say.
I may not be a world-famous orator, and it’s unlikely my blog posts will ever rival the cultural impact of Tara Moss’s work. However, Speaking Out has equipped me to make a million tiny changes in my life, starting with my self-view. The vocal exercises, the statistics, the social media advice… all are practical even for something as seemingly insignificant as logging on Twitter or expressing my opinion to a male friend. I love how reading this book has improved my self-worth.
I have so much respect and gratitude to Tara Moss for this intimate insight into her life to show the indisputably real effects of gender inequality. I empathise with her pain and find her confidence to fight discrimination truly inspiring. These books not only gave me a new role model for navigating life, but also the self-belief to speak up for my rights and values.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
I listened to The Fictional Woman and Speaking Out as audio books, and now have a HUGE crush on Tara Moss’s voice. As a strong and confident speaker, her warmth and wisdom bursts through her rich tone. Hearing the author read her own work is intimate, and sometimes unearthed my own pain. Although I plan to buy all my female friends and family members these books for Christmas, I know I’ll be returning to the audio versions.
If you are female and you believe your words should be worth the same as your male colleague’s, Speaking Out is your one-stop shop. As a feminist active across many types of media, Tara Moss is experienced with the discrimination, hate, and threats many women face when they open their mouths.
Like a feminist sensei, Moss prepares women and girls to speak up for their rights. The book is structured intuitively, with guides to speaking out in various social contexts and a section dedicated to looking after your own wellbeing when you experience backlash for raising your voice. These contexts include public speaking, radio, blogging, and popular social medias.
Listening to verbatim quotes of male politicians and journalists belittling their (often more qualified) female colleagues, opened my eyes to how downplayed and normalised everyday sexism is – even in visible spaces like parliament and TV. Speaking Out encourages readers to challenge the normalisation of sexism. I love how Moss reminds readers they are worthy of what they want to say.
I may not be a world-famous orator, and it’s unlikely my blog posts will ever rival the cultural impact of Tara Moss’s work. However, Speaking Out has equipped me to make a million tiny changes in my life, starting with my self-view. The vocal exercises, the statistics, the social media advice… all are practical even for something as seemingly insignificant as logging on Twitter or expressing my opinion to a male friend. I love how reading this book has improved my self-worth.
I have so much respect and gratitude to Tara Moss for this intimate insight into her life to show the indisputably real effects of gender inequality. I empathise with her pain and find her confidence to fight discrimination truly inspiring. These books not only gave me a new role model for navigating life, but also the self-belief to speak up for my rights and values.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Australian author and journalist, [a:Matthew Condon|210378|Matthew Condon|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1487546456p2/210378.jpg], captures the essence of his childhood city in this memoir of Brisbane’s past and present. As a fellow “Brisbanite”, I struggled to relate to Condon’s romantic point of view.
Brisbane pieces together the city’s elusive history with painstaking detail. The key focus is on rediscovering John Oxley’s original 1824 landing site, following the misjudgment of the memorial’s placement in North Quay.
To avoid being too dry, Condon breaks up the book with personal anecdotes from his childhood and interactions with his young son in the present day. Although this nostalgia can be cloying, his writing is a lot more engaging here, adding a pinch of tasteful narrative to an otherwise very bland book. Condon explains that he deliberately wove the book’s structure to mirror the meandering flow of the Brisbane River. Attention to details like this redeems this heavy read.
Although I would never read this book for pleasure, I appreciate the insight it gave me. I would have liked to learn more about my city’s cultural history, rather than just its town planning. Unfortunately, the topics covered in this memoir will interest only a narrow, local readership.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Brisbane pieces together the city’s elusive history with painstaking detail. The key focus is on rediscovering John Oxley’s original 1824 landing site, following the misjudgment of the memorial’s placement in North Quay.
To avoid being too dry, Condon breaks up the book with personal anecdotes from his childhood and interactions with his young son in the present day. Although this nostalgia can be cloying, his writing is a lot more engaging here, adding a pinch of tasteful narrative to an otherwise very bland book. Condon explains that he deliberately wove the book’s structure to mirror the meandering flow of the Brisbane River. Attention to details like this redeems this heavy read.
Although I would never read this book for pleasure, I appreciate the insight it gave me. I would have liked to learn more about my city’s cultural history, rather than just its town planning. Unfortunately, the topics covered in this memoir will interest only a narrow, local readership.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Editor-in-chief of French Elle magazine, [a:Jean-Dominique Bauby|75287|Jean-Dominique Bauby|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1306604924p2/75287.jpg] life changed forever when he was paralysed by Locked-In Syndrome. Using only his left eyelid to communicate, Bauby embarked on a groundbreaking journey to deliver his story to the world.
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is a labour of love – as his assistant read out the alphabet, Bauby individually selected every letter by blinking. Once you understand how much effort went into writing this book, you can’t look at it the same way again. Each word deserves to be weighed on your tongue as you read.
It is also a memoir of loss, isolation, and appreciation for life’s beauty and sense of humour. Despite its underlying pain, Bauby’s story remains light and funny. He weaves together accounts of daily life at the hospital and memories of time spent with friends and family to paint a full picture of his life. The non-linear narrative structure allows his story to unfold naturally in perfect balance with the necessary scientific context. All of Bauby’s anecdotes prove that although Locked-In Syndrome stole his future, it cannot take away his identity – he is committed to living the fullest life possible.
Bauby’s isolation from his family hit me hard. Imagining myself in his shoes, I was heartbroken reading about his separation from his children, Théophile and Céleste, unable to tell them how much he loves them or repair the dad-shaped hole he left in their lives.
Bauby’s story may be sad, but my lasting impression is uplifting. This emotional rollercoaster will touch you and urge you not to take life for granted. If nothing else, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly highlights the importance of remembering through the passing down of stories.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is a labour of love – as his assistant read out the alphabet, Bauby individually selected every letter by blinking. Once you understand how much effort went into writing this book, you can’t look at it the same way again. Each word deserves to be weighed on your tongue as you read.
It is also a memoir of loss, isolation, and appreciation for life’s beauty and sense of humour. Despite its underlying pain, Bauby’s story remains light and funny. He weaves together accounts of daily life at the hospital and memories of time spent with friends and family to paint a full picture of his life. The non-linear narrative structure allows his story to unfold naturally in perfect balance with the necessary scientific context. All of Bauby’s anecdotes prove that although Locked-In Syndrome stole his future, it cannot take away his identity – he is committed to living the fullest life possible.
Once I was a master at recycling leftovers. Now I cultivate the art of simmering memories – page 44
Bauby’s isolation from his family hit me hard. Imagining myself in his shoes, I was heartbroken reading about his separation from his children, Théophile and Céleste, unable to tell them how much he loves them or repair the dad-shaped hole he left in their lives.
‘How do you feel, buddy?’ asks Théophile. His buddy’s throat is tight, his hands are sunburnt, his coccyx hurts from sitting on it too long, but he has had a wonderful day. And what about you kids, what will you carry back from this field-trip into my endless solitude? – page 83
Bauby’s story may be sad, but my lasting impression is uplifting. This emotional rollercoaster will touch you and urge you not to take life for granted. If nothing else, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly highlights the importance of remembering through the passing down of stories.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.